


Dreams of Butterflies

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Cliche, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.—Chuang ChouRose Tyler is abarista.Rose Tyler is arockstar.Rose Tyler is a butterfly.





	1. Uni Coffee Shop

 

“Large Caramel Swirl Macchiato for…” Rose squinted at the cup, “...The Doctor?”

A gangly, freckly man with a weasel-like face bounced over to her station. “That’s me!”

Rose leveled a look at him as she handed over the drink, more sugar than caffeine. “This is med school, mate, you might wanna pick a new gag for the next cup.”

“Er, right,” the man replied, tugging on his earlobe. Rose turned away to prepare the next drink before he could say more.

7-8am was a busy time for the Uni coffee shop. Students and professors alike swarmed for a pickmeup before their morning classes. Rose couldn’t fathom studying anatomy or biology or whatever at 8 in the morning, but then she’d never even finished her A-levels. All of the Uni’s curriculum was beyond her anyways.

“Martha,” Rose chimed at quarter to, “Your elixer of life.” Her favorite doctoral student picked up the triple espresso she relied on, and took a moment to slump over the counter. Absently Rose patted her head. “Another all-nighter, love?”

“What is sleep?” Martha asked, gulping down the scalding liquid. “I _read_ about it. Textbook says a healthy brain must get 8 hours a night, uninterrupted. Might as well be Harry Potter, s’just as fictional.”

“You get your doctorate, you can sleep all you like.”

That startled a genuine laugh out of her. “Ha! More like I’ll be kipping in hospital cots. Squeezing in between snogging nurses.”

“I thought _I_ watched too much tv.” Rose grinned at her friend. She’d been serving Martha ever since she took the job in September. She was one of the few who actually engaged Rose in conversation beyond flavors and milk options. “Now shove, you’ve got that quiz to ace, ‘member? You’ll do great.”

“Ta Rose, see you!”

“Yeah, laters.” Martha trotted away, her dark hair swinging freely behind her. With a wave of self-consciousness she’d never admit to, Rose tucked a loose section of hair back behind her ear. The cap all servers wore was tight and itchy, but it could be worse. Could be a hairnet.

 

* * *

 

“Large Honey Latte for The Doctor?” Rose read the name with a uptick of her brow.

“Mine again.” The man from yesterday scooped up the sugar-heavy drink.

“Nearly noon,” Rose remarked, checking the wall clock, “No lunch?”

“Oh no, this is lovely!” He slurped the latte noisily, grinning brightly at her. “Plenty of time for a meal later.” Without the morning crowd, Rose could spare the man a critical glance. He was far too skinny, a fact only accentuated by the vertical pinstripes of his suit. Hang on, who wore a full suit to school? What on earth could he be studying? Eccentric and starving, it was a wonder he wasn’t at art school.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rose said, moving to the display case, “Fancy a cheese toasty?” From the register, Astrid shot her a confused glance. Rose gave a stern shake of the head. She wouldn’t take it from the ‘til, so it really wasn’t Astrid’s business.

“Really, it’s quite alright.” The man tried to wave her off, but Rose channeled her mother’s best glare.

“You said you’d eat later, yeah? Might as well take it to go. Do you eat ham?” Blindsided, as many a man has been by Jackie Tyler-ire, he nodded. “No gluten allergy?” Negative. “Good. Take this and be sure to heat it up later.” She passed over the wrapped sandwich and smiled warmly. “Alright? Take care, love.”

He stammered, juggling the sandwich and latte, and reaching for his suit pockets. “Let me, er, how much—”

“S’on me. Seriously.” The man froze in his fumbling, staring at her with such wonder, you’d think Rose had hung the moon. She fidgeted a bit under the attention.

“Thank you, Rose,” He told her. She jumped, then giggled at herself, looking down at the nametag on her apron.

“Right, yeah, get on then, plenty of work to do.” Him and her both, she realized as another order was put down on her station.

“That’ll be three pound fifty,” Astrid informed her. “You do like to pick up strays, don’t you?"

 

* * *

 

“Why don’t you ever put your real name?” Rose asked the next time she remembered. It took a few days of reading ‘The Doctor’ on the paper cups that arrived at her station for it to sink in. She handed one such cup over and waited as he took a sip. He smacked his lips after, meeting her eyes so manically, she nearly snatched it back.

“‘Cause I _am_ the Doctor! People address me that way, you know. ‘Oh hullo Doctor!’ ‘Doctor, I’ve got a question about yackety yack!’ ‘Did you see the Doctor, he’s looking fit, innit he?’” Rose snorted, glad no one else was watching her. They’d accuse her of getting snot in their coffee or something. “There’s plenty of doctors ‘round here, but only one _The_ Doctor. Besides, my name’s dreadfully unmemorable, no one would look at me twice if I spread it around.”

“I’ll believe this ‘unmemorable name’ once I hear it,” She teased lightly.

He tapped his nose, “Maybe if you’re lucky. Very, very, _very_ lucky, Rose.”

Flirting, Rose was no stranger to. It came very naturally to her, so much so her first boyfriend called her a tease. Mostly she saw it as harmless at work, because there was far more than a countertop keeping her and these uni boys apart. Still, she allowed herself to have a proper look at this one. Her initial impression of him had been bland, colored by the early hour and the activity. Second had been critical, and while he still stood like a beanpole, he wasn’t actually without substance.

Now she took in his face, so alive beneath the freckles and gelled up hair, and decided him pretty.

“Cheeky,” Rose chided the both of them, before setting down another drink and calling it out, cutting off any more conversation.

 

* * *

 

“What do normal people do?” Martha asked her one morning. Rose stared at her for a full second before Martha realized what she’d said. “Sorry, I don’t mean, like… Actually I don’t know what I meant.” Her eyes grew so round and sad. “I’m very tired and it’s nearly winter hols, so I’ve got exams, but I wish I could just go to a pub with mates like I reckon most people do. Only no one around here… I asked Oliver if he’d want to study in a pub and he just said it’d be too loud.”

Finishing Martha’s brew, Rose spoke slowly. “Well yeah, could be.” She surveyed the student. She really did look tired and depressed, and Rose knew she hadn’t meant to sound patronizing. “Mickey and I go to this pub, little ways away, it’s mostly quiet. You could bring a book if you wanted, but honestly I think it’d do you good to talk to people about more than diseases.”

“You’re inviting me?” Martha clarified hopefully.

“Course I am, you mad woman.” They exchanged numbers and planned to meet the next night.

In her head she saw galaxies collide and destroy each other. Never before had she let her personal life mix with this job. Mickey hadn’t even seen the cafe, not that he’d enjoy it. He was keen to remind Rose of where estate kids like them belonged.

Martha was perfectly lovely though, and he wouldn’t forsake a friend in need.

Just in case, Rose dialed up Mickey as she was jumping on the bus home. “S’alright if I bring someone to the pub?”

“ _Is she fit?_ ”

Rose played scandalized. “Mickey!”

“ _Only joking. Yeah, ‘course. Who’s coming?_ ”

“This girl Martha, I know her from work. She’s studying to be a doctor and she needs to chill out for a bit.”

“ _She sounds like a bore. Probably look down on me for working at a garage. Some boffin without mates of her own._ ”

“Mickey Smith, you will behave, or so help me I’ll sic my mother on you.”

“ _Only joking, love, can’t you tell when I’m having a laugh?_ ”

 

* * *

 

 The next few times Rose served the Doctor weren’t notable, his was just another cup in a long line.

It was some weeks later when he came in during the quieter hours between noon and 2pm, end of Rose’s shift. His voice preceded him through the door, as he was arguing passionately with another brunette man wearing a mighty scowl.

“It’s immaterial whether obtaining consent was customary at the time,” The Doctor ranted, limbs whirling with vim, “The practices of the past must hold up to contemporary standards, lest we all go about testing vaccines on native populations and the mentally infirm.”

“The HeLa strain was medical waste at best,” The other man, who appeared perhaps a few years older, replied wearily. “You’d rather all her cells be buried in some field than have the world benefit from their subsequent research.”

“I’m not saying there wasn’t advancement from the strain, Harry,” The Doctor protested. Rose hadn’t thought he noticed her waiting patiently until his attention fixed on her. “Rose, won’t you settle something for us?”

“Er…” Rose waffled uncertainly, but her answer was cut off.

“Don’t bother her with it, what’s she going to know about it?” Harry, the scowling man, said. That got her pipped. A barrage of remarks about just where he could put his big pompous head was on the tip of her tongue, all of which would get her fired for sure.

The Doctor thankfully forged ahead. “You’re dead. Sorry.” Rose clicked her teeth shut in surprise. “Your doctor takes some cells from your body without your permission beforehand, or the permission of your kin. Researchers go on to do amazing things with your cells, develop cures for cancer, AIDS, and sequence the human genome. Only technically all of those advancements come from a violation of your rights. How would you feel?”

“Was it worth it?” Harry asked.

“Now hang on, those are two totally different questions,” Rose replied, mulling it over. “I donate blood, y’know. If someone needed part of a kidney, or sommat, I’d want to help them. If I died, and my cells would change the world, of course I’d want to give them away.” Harry got this smug froglike expression, but the Doctor seemed buoyed, as if he knew there was more coming. “But that’s the point, innit? _I_ made the choice. I’d be livid if I found out some mad scientist got in my genes without permission.” Rose winked at the Doctor, feeling cheeky. “Blimey, they’d discover I’m not a real blonde! Can you imagine?”

Stone faced, Harry stated clearly, “Coffee, skim, large.”

Stiffening her spine, getting back in the mindset, Rose rung him up. He’d barely caught his change before he was swanning off. Rose wrinkled her nose at his back, then forced a smile. “And for you, Doctor?”

“Erm,” He reviewed the board, running his tongue over his front teeth. Rose caught herself staring and blinked rapidly. Rude again. “Caught between the Mocha and the White Chocolate Mocha. I know I want something chocolatey, but the White Chocolate syrup is so much sweeter. How many pumps is it? Five? Is that worth the loss of chocolate purity of a Mocha?”

Rose chuckled. “How about I do you a favor, love?”

“You’ve done that and a half already,” The Doctor told her, beaming like a child.

“Ever heard of a Tuxedo Mocha? It’s not really on the menu here, but it’s like half Mocha, half White Mocha. Okay?”

“Brilliant!” Again, his awe seemed wildly overblown, and Rose hurried to ring him up so she could get out from it. As she moved to handle Harry’s order, the Doctor followed her to the station. “Oh, is it just you? I hadn’t realized.”

“Not many folks coming in past noon,” Rose explained, “One of us can usually handle it. Apparently there’s another rush at 5pm before night lectures, but I’m always out before then.” She placed the coffee next to the skim container and called Harry over. He scowled (again) once he realized it was up to him to pour the milk. Rose left him to it and got to work mixing the Doctor’s.

“If you’re done fraternizing,” She heard Harry say snidely, “Perhaps we could get back to the task at hand?”

“Knock it off, Harry.” Rose sped up her mixing and plopped the cup down. “Thank you, Rose, for your insight and delicious drinks.”

“Enjoy your sugar rush,” She replied, earning a groan from his friend. Good, she hoped the Doctor talked his ears off.

 

* * *

 

Christmas drew near and Rose’s hours were cut. No need for superfluous staff when students weren’t on campus and there weren’t classes to fuel up for. Her bank account wasn’t overjoyed by it, but she’d saved enough to justify a few weeks off. She ate cup-o-noodles in her flat and when she couldn’t stand it any longer she visited her mum. Her mum still treated her like a child, rather than someone in her early 20s, and she filled the home with constant noise. Though she adored her mother, it quickly grew abrasive.

“Do you think,” Rose interrupted a story about Beverly’s bad bleach job, “I’ve wasted my life?”

For all that Jackie could be obliviously self-centered, she couldn’t dodge the anvil-sized hint. “Oh, sweetie, what’s brought this on?”

Rose shrugged, turning the hot mug of tea in her hands. “Nothing. I dunno. I’ve been thinking… It was stupid, leaving school like I did. I can’t get a proper job without my A-levels. A career, you know, not a job.”

“It’s that medical school,” Jackie nodded sagely, “I told you—”

“I haven’t got airs and graces!”

“Well what’s this rot about wasting your life then? You never talked like that before! Or is this about Mickey?”

“No, God, I don’t know why I brought it up.” Rose rubbed at her eye, then huffed when it came away smudged with black. “S’nothing. I wonder, is all, about what I’d be doing if I cared more about schooling back then. As it happens, I’ve got no idea what I could do with myself, if I ever cared to be more than a barista.”

Jackie stood from the kitchen table and pressed a kiss to Rose’s crown. “You’re still young yet, sweetheart.” Her arms came around her daughter in a loose hug. “‘Sides, how could your life be a waste when I love you so much?”

“Mum…” Rose grumbled as her cheeks flushed. She held on tighter.

 

* * *

 

“Are you going my way, perchance?” Rose twisted to see the Doctor bounding up the street toward her. He carried a blue umbrella, which was lucky, because it was raining quite badly. She nodded quickly, adjusting the scarf around her face. As his long strides fell in step with hers, Rose gladly ducked beneath his umbrella.

“Lucky me,” She told him through shivering teeth, “It only started when I was waiting for the bus.”

“Lucky me then,” He replied, their elbows knocking together. “Are you just getting back from winter hols?”

Rose shot him a strange look. “I’m not a student. Barista full time, that’s me. Well, I say full time, I should be looking for a night job, it’s just hard to contemplate.”

“I thought… ah well.” He shook his head, droplets spraying from the ends of his hair. “Good, actually, that’s good.”

“What?” Rose asked on a chuckle, bumping his shoulder. “That I’m a lazy bum who’s coasting on a part-time job?”

“No, no, not at all, I, er—” The Doctor thankfully didn’t have to stumble over more words because they’d arrived at the coffee shop. It was half past 6, Rose was technically late. Astrid had already unlocked the doors and would no doubt be irked at having set out the display pastries alone. Rose rested her back on the door, pushing it half open, and smiled at the Doctor.

“Thanks for the escort, Doctor. If not for you I’d be an even more sodden mess.”

He jerked his chin behind her. “Mind if I come in? I know you’re not open, but it’s wet and miserable and I haven’t got anywhere to be for a while yet. Did that rhyme?”

“No,” She told him, then hastened to correct herself, “No, it didn’t really rhyme, but yes, you can come in. I won’t be able to serve you anything until I start the brews.”

“That’s alright, I have a book,” He patted the front of his jacket. “Ah, and judging by the bulge, a banana. Handy, that. Allons-y, Rose!”

She didn’t laugh at him, though it was a near thing. As they entered, the Doctor dutifully sat himself in a corner while Rose rushed to the counter to start preparations. Every now and then she glanced his way, to find the Doctor reading from a small battered paperback and peeling a banana.

At five to, with her station clean, the coffee and iced coffee brewed, and Astrid placated with a promise to cover a later shift, Rose placed a cup on the Doctor’s table. He startled, peering at it before looking up at her.

“A Mocha with a Caramel Swirl, whipped cream, and added chocolate drizzle,” She announced, gratified when he boggled at her, “A thanks for being a gentleman.”

He straightened with a jolt of humor. “You should know, a gentleman never accepts thanks for his manners.” Yet he did pick up the drink and take a long sip. He licked his lips and hummed with satisfaction. “But you, Rose, tempt me far too much.”

“Never had a good track record with gentlemen anyways,” Rose told him, matching the teasing, smoldering tone of the banter. The front door opened, and Rose was free to sashay back to her station.

For an hour she felt his eyes burning on her back, a whirl of constant motion through the morning rush. When there was a moment’s pause, and Rose removed her cap and fanned herself with it, she sent him a grin, tongue pressed to her teeth. His intense stare, so much more so than he’d given his book, was a shot straight to the ego. If she felt a twinge of guilt, it was waved away with the certainty that their flirting wasn’t serious, and everyone deserved some eye candy to get them through lonely days.

 

* * *

 

“No, Jack,” Rose sighed into the phone, cradled between shoulder and ear, “I can’t tonight. Stop whining, ‘cause it’s not gonna change anything but my opinion of—Oof.” She bounced back from the door that had slammed into her front.

From the other side of the door, she heard the Doctor’s familiar rambling voice. “Oh goodness, I’m so, so sorry. Can I—” He rounded the door and caught sight of her. His eyes went wide. “Rose, I, oh...”

“ _Rosie?_ ” Jack’s petulant tone had turned worried. “ _You okay, gorgeous?_ ”

“Jack, I’m hanging up now,” Rose said into the phone, rubbing a hand over her chest. She clicked the cell shut and huffed. “That’s one way to make a point, I s’pose.”

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” The Doctor said, “I didn’t know it was you. Not to say, er, I’d have wanted to hit anyone else with a door. I’m rarely that clumsy. I tend to, er, wander off and I’m not always observant, but—”

“Blimey you’ve got a gob,” Rose shook her head, laughing. “It’s fine, Doctor. It’s a good thing I always enter a room chest first, or else I’d have a bloody nose.” He glanced down at her shirt and blushed.

His gaze snapped back up, and he cleared his throat. “Were you... sorry, were you leaving?”

Rose nodded, still smiling. “Clocked out, free to go.”

“Meeting the boyfriend?” He asked. Her brows drew sharply together until he pointed at her cell phone.

“Ha, sort of, but no. My mate, Jack, he’s a bit pushy is all.”

“Not that I can talk,” said the Doctor, “Bumping into you like that. I confess, I was rushing. I reckoned I might be missing you. Never seen you here after lunch’s over.”

“Nope!” She popped the p like he tended to do. “You’ll have to get your rush from Astrid today.”

His brows drew together and he pouted, honestly, like a toddler. “No one makes it quite like you. All froth and syrup.”

“Either thanks, or…” She hoisted her bag a bit higher on her back. “Well, come in before 2, and I’ll make you the next artery clogger tomorrow.”

Smirking, the Doctor leaned over her, and said, “I’m perfectly healthy, mind. Your caffeine confections haven’t put a dent in my arteries. I’ve got a superior biology.”

“Ha,” She poked him in the sternum, rocking him back on his heels, “You’ve not started to see what I can do with chocolate mix and a caramel drizzle.”

“Try me,” He grinned. It was at that moment the door nudged behind the Doctor, sending him off balance. Neither had realized they were effectively blocking the coffee shop entrance. Before the flirty exchange could resume, Rose slipped out, hefting her heavy bag to let the weight remind her of her place. Didn’t do to get those airs and graces and float away.

 

* * *

 

Saturday pub nights with Mickey and Martha weren’t quite a regular thing, but they had happened often enough that the initial awkwardness was gone. On this occasion, Mickey begged off to be with his mates from the garage, so Martha and Rose sat alone nursing pints and chips.

“Did I tell you,” Martha said in a universal tone that signaled imminent gossip, “Oliver and Lydia got caught snogging in the hospital basement?”

“Ooh, remind me, wasn’t she seeing some nurse?” Rose asked, gesturing with her chip.

“Nah, that was over a month ago. As far as I know they’re both single.”

“Then why the scandal?”

“Partly it was the residents barging in on them that spread it around. Apparently hoity-toity Oliver had his trousers unbuckled.” Rose giggled at Martha’s agog expression. “And I s’pose it’s questionable since he’s her advisor. You know,” She went on when it was clear Rose did _not_ know, “He advocates for her with professors and helps prepare her proposals.”

“He’s got authority over her?” Rose asked, and at the other girl’s nod, she wrinkled her nose. “I could never get that. My mum drilled it into me, ‘don’t shit where you eat’.”

“I thought it was ‘don’t sleep where you eat’?”

“Either way. Far too messy,” Rose concluded, looking to her friend for agreement. Except that Martha had a strange frown like she couldn’t puzzle Rose out. “What?”

“It’s just…” Martha shook her head. “Love’s messy, Rose. That’s the point of it. Sure they say it’s patient and kind, but you can’t expect it to be _convenient_.” Rose flushed as deep as her namesake. “Haven’t you…?”

The story spilled out of her like justification. “I dropped out of school because I moved in with a boyfriend. I thought it was real, but I was a hormonal kid, what did I know? He was gone within four months. After that, I mean, Mickey was my best mate. It made sense, or at least, we’d both thought so. We could spend hours together doing nothing at all and thought… that’s got to be love, right? Only we did just that: nothing. It took me losing an old job and lounging on Mickey’s couch for a month to realize how bad things had gotten.”

“You mean you didn’t, like, motivate each other?” Martha surmised, her eyes bright and intelligent, and Rose couldn’t hold her gaze.

“Settling down shouldn’t mean settling. We’re better as mates, we both see that now.” Instead of sighing in defeat, she finished off her pint. “S’like you said. We were convenient. So no, I s’pose I haven’t ever been in love.”

“I…” Martha tapped her fingers on the table. As she marshaled her thoughts, Rose felt a stifling inadequacy. Martha was going to be a brilliant doctor one day. She’d be a wonderful wife to someone very lucky. “I’ve thought I was in love so many times,” Martha confessed with a wistful smile. “Sometimes I think I really was. It hasn’t worked out yet, but in the moment it feels so real. Maybe that’s enough.”

Her question would tip them over the edge of casual friends, Rose was sure, but the buzz of alcohol made her bold. “Who was the last one? Not Oliver, I hope?”

Martha barked a short laugh. “No, hardly. The last one was Professor Smith, he was teaching a medical ethics class last term. It was more of a crush than anything. I think if we were to ever have a proper go of it we’d find out we had nothing in common.” After a thoughtful pause, she added, “Or too much.”

Rose shook her head, grabbing both of their empty glasses, and replied, “I reckon you know more about it than me. You figure out the formula for a good match, you share, alright?”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor laughed when Rose set his drink carefully on the counter. “Oh, but that’s beautiful!” The Caramel Macchiato he’d ordered was topped with a surplus of whipped cream, dusted with cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles.

Rose cocked her head and recited, “Did you know there was a study that found men who drank one sweetened beverage per day had a 20 percent greater chance of having a fatal heart attack? I asked my girlfriend Martha, she’s a medical student here, and she looked it up for me.”

“How thoughtful,” He replied as he lifted it up. Eyes still twinkling at her in mirth, he took a sip, and when he pulled away, Rose couldn’t stop herself from bursting out laughing. She doubled over, trying to hide the sounds behind her hands. “What?” He asked. She lifted her head, only to cackle even harder. “Seriously, what?” He repeated over her gasping breaths. “I’m a very busy man, Rose, you can’t expect me to wait around all day for you to pull yourself together.”

“Your face!” She gasped, clutching her stomach.

Carefully, so as not to dislodge the enormous glob of whipped cream from his upper lip, the Doctor shook his head. “Perhaps you ought to turn yourself over to the psych ward, Rose, I fear you’re going mad here.”

She snatched up a napkin and beckoned him closer, “C’mere you daft man.” Once he leaned forward, she swiped it across his mouth, then backed up and tossed it in the trash. “Shit, that was funny,” Rose muttered, still close to giggling at the thought. She used another napkin to wipe the mascara from beneath her eyes. Looking a bit neater, she turned back to the Doctor, who had remained half leaned over the countertop. He wore a funny sort of expression, as if he were thinking very hard, and his eyes weren’t entirely focused on her. “Did the sugar get you already? Have I got to get one of those defrib—er… defibrillators?”

Blinking himself back to the land of the living, the Doctor straightened up. “No, no, I’m fine.” He adjusted his tie, setting it askew where it had been perfect before. “You know, Martha might be a smart girl, but you can never trust a study if you don’t know the source. What’s the control group? 20 percent higher chance than whom? Men who never drink any sweetened beverage? Occasional sugar consumers? How do you isolate how much sugar they intake from other sources? They might substitute sugar-sweetened coffee drinks with juice high in natural sugars. Or eat foods high in fat like red meat. There’s endless possibilities, and you’ll never know if you don’t read the actual publication.”

Rose nodded sagely at his rambling. “Basically, you don’t want to change your diet.”

“There is that, yes,” He agreed.

“Far be it from me to dissuade you, not when you supply half our tips.”

“Rose!” Astrid called, and she winced at the row of cups she’d been neglecting.

“Sorry,” said the Doctor with a wince, “I’ve been monopolizing your talents. Best be off.”

She tossed her farewell over her shoulder and didn’t think of him for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god,” Rose uttered in shock, “You’re shagging Mickey.”

“What? No!” Martha denied reflexively. Her eyes were round and her grip bending the paper cup Rose had passed to her not two seconds ago.

“D’you think I’m stupid?” Rose countered, red tinting the edges of her vision. Martha’s hair was coiled on top of her head and still damp. Her clothes were the same she wore last night at the pub except for one notable exception. “I _bought_ Mickey that shirt. Never owned a button up until two years ago. What, thought I wouldn’t recognize it under a lab coat?”

“Rose,” Astrid said faintly from behind her, “Lower your voice.”

At last, Martha appeared chagrined, but not half as much as Rose reckoned she ought to. “I… It’s so new. Mickey said we oughtn’t tell you right away, said we should ease you into it.”

“Oh, Mickey said, did he? Wouldn’t have anything to do with my new friend shagging my ex? Real friendly, screwing around behind my back, lying to my face about it.” Rose slapped her hands on the counter as a new train of thought barreled into her. “Are you messing him about?”

Martha gaped. “What?”

“Is there a problem here?” A new presence intruded, but Rose ignored him.

“Is he how you’re relieving your exam stress this term? Having a shag with the kid from the estate before you go off to study with your brilliant classmates? Does that make you feel good?”

“Rose!” Astrid snapped, jostling her arm.

“How dare you!” Martha shouted lunging forward as if to clamber over the bartop until someone held her back. “You don’t even like Mickey that way! You’ve got no right, no right at all! It took him ages — _years_ — to get over you, and now you decide I can’t have an honest go of it? Because I’m in school? Do you even know what you’re jealous of anymore?”

“Alright, let’s both of you calm down,” The intruding presence Rose had ignored piped up again. This time, Rose spared a moment to glare at him, only to falter when she recognized the Doctor. He hand his hands on Martha’s shoulders and was bouncing his concerned gaze from her to Rose. “You’re friends, yes? Let’s not say anything we can’t take back now.”

Martha wrenched herself back, putting the Doctor between them, and said to him, “Sorry, Professor. I didn’t think…”

Somewhere a record player scratched, and Rose’s fury derailed entirely. That single word, as shocking as a splash of ice water, fell from her lips, “Professor?” The Doctor glanced at her, and must’ve read something in the blankness of her face, because his mouth tightened.

“I’ve got to go,” Martha said, forcing Rose back into the moment. It was another shock to see Martha’s dark round eyes brimming with tears. “I’ve got class,” She muttered, resentfully, before she nearly sprinted away, morning coffee forgotten. Rose stared after her until someone prodded her.

“Get out of here,” Astrid commanded, “You’ve made enough of a scene already.”

Shame burned her cheeks, as Rose realized she was right. Every single person in the cafe was staring at her, unknown judgements in their heads. Rose stripped off her apron and cap and tossed them to the ground, then ducked out. The spring sunlight was too warm, too kind on her skin, and she hurried through the London crowd, knocking shoulders without care.

She should’ve realized he’d be hot on her tail, but his voice calling out still startled her. “Rose! Slow down!” She didn’t, but his long legs caught up to her regardless.

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be, Professor?” She bit out.

“I thought you knew,” He said, “I hadn’t realized until after Christmas that you weren’t a student. I was glad, wasn’t I? I couldn’t talk to a student the way I talk to you, Rose.”

She barked a harsh laugh. “No, I ‘spect not.”

“Why does this change anything?” He asked, hand brushing her elbow, but not grabbing when she tugged it away. “I’m still me, and you’re still you, and we still like—”

“What,” Rose interrupted, not looking at him, “How I make your coffee?” She heard his footfalls halt, and despite her wishes, her pace slowed until she stopped too. Rose turned to see the Doctor watching her.

“Is that all?” He asked so softly, Rose had to strain to hear over the traffic. The funny expression he got sometimes, intent, sad, unfocused, weighed heavy on his young features. Too young, she thought ruefully, to be so brilliant and accomplished. Too pretty for Rose to be expected to know her place.

Rose shrugged, partly to his mysterious question, and partly to the unasked questions swirling in his confusing eyes. The Doctor nodded, his jaw set tightly.

“Right. I suppose I got it wrong then.” She had no idea what to do with that, and thankfully the Doctor could read her as easily as ever. “I’m sorry, so sorry, if I bothered you at all. I’ll…” He wavered, and part of Rose surprised her with the urge to go to him, to provide comfort. Her fists clenched uselessly as he composed himself. “I’ll see you around, Rose.”

It was so final, Rose could say nothing as he turned and walked back to the University, swallowed up in seconds by the stream of strangers. A tight knot in her stomach nearly made her retch, and Rose rested the back of her hand on her forehead to cool it. She wouldn’t be welcome back at work for the rest of the day, possibly permanently, so she made the quick decision to go home. Her flat welcomed her with the familiar scent of dirty clothes and lavender air freshener, and Rose collapsed on her fluffy duvet. Fully clothed, she closed her eyes, forcing thoughts of Martha’s tears and the Doctor’s frown _down down down_ , until sleep mercifully took her.

And then…

Rose woke up.

 


	2. Rock Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose Tyler. Stage name, Rosie. Songwriter, singer, and keyboard player. 26 years old, without family. Halfway through a UK tour on the way back to London.

 

 

Her fingers danced over the keys, chords as familiar as the digits themselves. The mic kissed her lips as she let the words out easy as breath.

“ _If you get my name wrong, I won’t get pissed off ‘cause I wish I was somebody else…_ ” The lights flashed from pink to purple through her closed eyelids. She loved this part. “ _You know nothing about me, I know nothing about you, but maybe the question mark helps_.” Voices of a multitude swelled with hers and Rose let herself look over the undulating dark mass. “ _Have you ever been lost? We could get lost. I wanna get lost_.”

As the chorus faded into guitar riff, Rose stepped back and snatched her water bottle. Drinking greedily, she took the brief opportunity to observe her bandmates. Jack expertly fingered the notes that electrified the crowd, and as if sensing her gaze, shot her a winning smile that gleamed in the violet light. She returned it, knowing the audience would lap it up. Any interaction between the two frontmen (well, man and woman) would be photographed a million times and dissected by internet bloggers. Jack preened under any attention, and Rose was glad to supply it to him.

Over her shoulder, she peered through the shadows at the frenetic drummer. Johnny was beating the groove and adding fills they hadn’t heard in rehearsal effortlessly. He was more constant and more creative than any beat machine. Sweat flung from his shaggy hair refracted the colored lights, and Rose recognized that the lighting change meant a return to the bridge. She tore her gaze away from him to face front, hands hovering in place over the keyboard, licked her lips and sang for her fans.

 

“ _Have you ever been lost? We could get lost. I wanna get lost_.”

 

The song ebbed and crested and came to an end, to thunderous applause. Her cheeks split wide with her grin.

“Thank you, thank you, Sheffield, you’ve been lovely,” She cooed. The mass roared in response, a swell of overwhelming adoration. “I love you all, so much! I’d like to thank the Leadmill for having us! My guitarist, Jack Harkness, astounding as ever!” The fans brayed their approval as Jack took an elaborate bow. “Yeah, you love it. And on drums, the brilliant Johnny Smith!” Johnny held up one stick as the crowd showered him in love as well. “And I am Rosie, and we’ll see you laters, yeah? Be good, my lovelies, have a fantastic life!” She laughed and twirled her way off the stage, and as she entered the shadows of backstage, she let the exhaustion weigh her down.

A hand began to knead her shoulder, and Rose glanced up at Jack’s sympathetic face. “They’ll want an encore, Rose.” Someone, a tech no doubt, pressed a drink into her hand. She drank it down in one, wincing. A something-and-tonic.

“Yeah, I know,” Rose sighed.

Johnny sidled up to them, his gait slower, and said, “Catch.” Instinctively she did, and grinned when she saw he’d tossed her water bottle.

“Cheers.” Jack rubbed the back of her neck as Rose rehydrated, and the three band members fell silent as the crowd outside chanted and howled a constant refrain.

_Rosie! Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!_

At the beginning of every show, Rose was very clear: they only had one album out and they’d play all of it. Yet after every show, the demand for an encore called them back. So they were left floundering, mixing up covers.

“Whatd’ya reckon?” Rose murmured.

Predictably, Jack offered, “Beach Boys?” For all that he loved electric guitar, Jack wasn’t half as cool as he thought he was. Alright, so the main reason was his voice was smooth, and oldies favored him.

“Not tonight, we need a strong closer.” She locked eyes with Johnny.

Firmly, he stated, “Little Red Riding Hood.”

Rose’s cheeks burned. That was a deeply personal song for her. But if she could share it with Jack and Johnny, she should be able to give it to her fans. “Fine. No keyboard, but it’s just as well. On in five then.” 

Jack left to have a word with the lighting techs, and she and Johnny shared the silence. She wondered if she ought to say something for the sake of it, but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t be totally inane. When Jack returned, he and Johnny strode out onto the stage, reigniting the fans cheers. She took in a steadying breath. And emerged.

 

* * *

 

Much, much later, after the music and the applause faded, after Jack split off with a blonde bloke, after Johnny put his headphones on and left for his bunk, Rose stood in front of the mirror in the cramped tour bus loo. They were parked, and without the hum of the engine, there was just the low buzz of fluorescent lights. They cast her face into harsh relief, the black smudges that doubled the size of her eyes, the glitter swiped over her cheekbones.

Idly, she turned her shoulder, examining the tattoo on her back. The flowers entwined over her spine, her parents’ favorites. She counted the petals and read the message to herself there: the dates of their death. Her father first, before she’d left the cradle, then her mother two decades later. Mum’s sickness started and ended before Rose had ever played for more than a school’s auditorium.

The dream floated back to her mind. It had been so ordinary. A barista! Going to pubs, making friends, and seeing her mother again. No wonder she’d dreamt it, she thought, it was an easy life, no matter the insecurity and yearning that Rose had felt to be _more._ More accomplished, more respected, more adored.

She couldn’t remember a dream so extensive, so fleshed out, even as its vividness faded slowly. Little details of an entire life flitted by like gnats, from the color of the apron to the medical student’s order. Except she'd never met a Martha Jones and couldn't make a cappuccino on her life.

Other people she recognized though, names and faces stolen and repurposed. Johnny was the strangest. Her drummer in a suit? Inconceivable. Let alone the whole doctor thing, she reckoned she'd never heard him say anything that wasn't directly related to the band. Her subconscious should be commended.

Real memories reasserted themselves as she met her own gaze in the mirror.

Rose Tyler. Stage name, Rosie. Songwriter, singer, and keyboard player. 26 years old, without family. Halfway through a UK tour on the way back to London. 

Humming an aimless tune, Rose left the bathroom dressed in her light pink jimjams, and crawled into her bunk. She pulled the privacy curtain and curled up facing out. Across the narrow aisle, tinny sounds escaped from Johnny’s bunk, and Rose fell asleep with the small comfort that she was not alone.

 

* * *

 

 

“Here’s a good one.” Jack stopped scrolling to show her the image on his phone. A gif of herself from last night looped, and Rose could read the lyrics on her lips.

_You’re everything… a big bad wolf could want…_

Tearing herself away from the memory, she asked, “What’re they saying about the gig?”

“In this one, not much. Mostly it's about your mesh top.” Jack winked, and Rose tossed a nearby cushion at him. The movement of the bus threw off her aim.

“Sorry, Rose,” Alonzo, the driver, called back to her. Couldn’t be helped, she conveyed with a shrug.

“The encore was good,” Johnny remarked without looking up from his magazine. Being a man of few words, when he spoke, Rose and Jack ended their squabble and gave him their full attention. “Might think about repeating it. Could flesh it out more, add some energy to the end, crescendo, then back off into the light airy vocals.”

“See, Jack,” Rose told him smugly, “If you spent half as much time thinking about the music as you do about my tits—”

“Somebody has to!”

Rose had a retort ready, except that Johnny did so himself. “I can multitask,” He said lightly, idly turning a page. The other two goggled at him. Johnny had remained a quiet enigma during the two years of his tenure with Rosie. Never one for socializing after gigs, with them or others, this was the first time he’d hinted at anything more than total asexuality.

Which, Rose amended, he still could be. She did have fantastic breasts. Even if they shouldn’t be up for casual discussion.

“If we're done talking about my tits, can we talk business?”

Jack, who could switch it off as easily as on, moved fluidly into work mode. “Radio One wants an interview. We’ll be in London in a week, I can schedule it then. It’ll add some media hype for the tour finale."

“Who with? Grimshaw?” At his confirmation, she wheedled, “Can't you handle it, Jack? You know I’m rubbish at chitchat.”

“We play under the name Rosie,” Johnny pointed out, “It's rather pointless if you're not there.”

“You wanna play for the crowds, you gotta smile for the cameras,” Jack told her. “Can I say Sunday morning for now?” 

“Yeah, alright.” They ran through a few other orders of business, before Alonzo pulled off to get them some lunch.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Rose asked Johnny when she found him, “Have you seen Jack?” Wordlessly, Johnny pointed over his shoulder with a stick. She followed the gesture to the tour bus. On the handle was a tie. Jack never wore ties. “Figures,” She sighed, “Well, reckon that explains why you’re sitting outside, anyway. You didn’t want to get a drink?”

“Nah, s’not my scene,” He replied, flicking his eyes up at her. They reflected the lights overhead in the car lot. Rubbing her arms, Rose crouched next to him, bobbing on her heels. “You might as well,” Johnny said, “He could be a while.”

“Doubt it,” She rolled her eyes to him, hoping for a laugh. When it was clear none was coming, Rose tilted her head back to gaze at the night sky. “I don’t always like going out to pubs. Jack makes it fun for a while, but it gets old. Noisy too. I ought to be resting my voice for tomorrow.” Her breath filled the space. Rose was acutely aware that she and the drummer had rarely spent this much time alone. “‘Sides, it’s a nice enough night. Not often you see the stars in London.”

“Thought you were resting your voice."

She huffed, “If you want me to leave—”

“Didn’t say that.”

Two souls squatting in a car park in Northampton at near 2 in the morning. Like a joke without a punchline. Maybe, Rose considered as she peered at the dark tour bus windows, Jack had fallen asleep right after. She wouldn't put it past him, for all his boasting. Then she and Johnny would be stranded outside until the American sheepishly let them in. Trapped by stiff English conventions. At least the early summer weather meant they wouldn't die of hypothermia before they had to confront the indignity of knocking.

Johnny beat a light pitter-patter on his denim clothed thighs. It was the sound of restless energy more than diligent practice. The notebook with the blue cover was on his lap. She’d only seen it a handful of times, and she nodded her chin at it curiously. “What’s that then?”

He tensed, but before she could backtrack, he appeared to make an effort to relax. “It’s… where I write ideas.”

“For songs?” She asked, surprised. To her knowledge Johnny had never expressed interest in songwriting.

“Yeah. I write fills if I want to save them. I’ve got a few songs from years ago in here too.”

“Could I see one?” Rose lightly touched the crook of his elbow. “I know it’s really personal, so you can say no. But I’d be happy to help flesh it out, you know, if it needs it.” Time wavered, paths diverging in a wood, as he considered her offer.

“Here, this one.” He flipped it open to an early page, and Rose scanned through the lines of sheet music. She was aware, as only a fellow writer could be, of how precious a gift she held. For the sake of her band she'd be willing to lie and flatter, but it was quickly evident that she needn't. Obvious to her growing anticipation, Johnny hemmed and hawed, “It’s only vocals and drums. I haven’t got your ear for melody.”

She shook her head. “Sing it?”

“It’s not going to be good,” He warned, “I only sing to get the timing right. I stick to monotone.”

Rose propped her chin on her fist expectantly. “Come on, give it a go.” With a put upon sigh, that Rose was 90 percent sure was faked, Johnny settled the blue notebook on the ground and began. 

He'd been truthful, Johnny’s voice wasn’t polished, but it had a rough lilt that leant gravity to the words. On his thighs he bounced his sticks, and she noted when his ankles flexed on imaginary pedals. In her mind, the song gained life. Guitar and cymbals accentuated its energy. A longing she couldn’t place swelled in her heart.

 

“ _It’s starting over,_  
_Yeah it’s starting now._  
_Why are you ru-u-u-unning,  
From your own crowd?_

 _Where are you going?_  
_And whatchu plan to do?_  
_When you reach that edge, girl,  
Of all you knew._

 _‘Cause you can go but just don’t leave me._  
_‘Cause I don’t know how I’m still breathing._  
_Oh, ‘cause you can go but just don’t leave me.  
‘Cause I need to feel your heart beating_.”

 

His voice trailed off on the warbling entreaty, and Rose murmured, “Johnny, it’s fantastic.”

“You’d sing it better,” He told her, with a brief quirk at the corner of his mouth. She nudged his shoulder with hers, neither confirming or denying. “It’s as much as I could come up with. I try and plan the rest of it, but the opener is all I’ve got that’s solid.”

“Who was it about.” That was probably too much, this had been more than Johnny had shared in all the time she’d known him. There was a mood in the air, so intimate, that made her ask, and he must’ve been under it’s spell as well.

“No one person in particular,” He said, lightly bouncing his sticks on the notebook. “I wrote that after secondary school, when it felt like all my friends were splitting up and growing apart. One friend flat out told me hanging around had stopped being fun for her. Just about all of them moved on, and even if we do keep in touch, it’s not the same.”

She blew out a sympathetic breath. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Me and my mate, Mickey, I never thought…” Rose trailed off. She’d been about to say _I never thought he’d lie to me_. Except that couldn’t be right. When had she last seen Mickey? Before leaving on tour, surely…

“Being left behind,” Johnny mused, drawing her out of mixed up memories, “Makes you want to try leaving first for a change.”

“Right,” Rose agreed, looking up once more. Galaxies winked at her conspiratorially. If they were trying to tell her future, she’d rather they straighten out the past first.

 

* * *

 

For the next week of touring, Johnny and Rose worked together on his song. They stole moments on the bus, and during tech rehearsals, and a few exhausted suggestions after the shows and before they collapsed in their bunks. When he cared enough to notice, Jack called them cute. Rose tried running a few chord progressions by him, but Jack waved her off.

“Writing isn’t my thing,” He complained, sprawled on the bus’ couch, “You tell me where to put my hands and we’ll be fine.”

Together they hammered out the third verse, its wording more fanciful, more impactful. “You're questioning in the first half,” Rose explained, “Imploring in the second. It's all got to be more forceful by the third.”

The bridge she pulled out of her dreams. Why the single phrase hovered there she couldn't say, but Johnny took them immediately.

“It fits,” Was all he’d say, insisting that they need only produce variants of the single line.

They sang, in Johnny's even tones and Rose’s higher ones, and the song progressed so naturally, they might've been witnessing a child's first steps. The day they practiced it for a tech rehearsal, Jack joined in, translating her scrawling notes to his guitar.

“You've worked some magic,” Jack praised once Johnny’s fingers stilled his cymbals and shook the notes from the air.

Rose, flushed with success, smacked a kiss on her guitarist and ran over and threw her arms around Johnny. He was deceptively solid and warm for one so slender, but that was as much as Rose allowed herself to notice.

“It's gorgeous, Johnny, simply gorgeous,” she told him as she put distance between them. His kit made a convenient barricade to hide behind. “I can't wait to play it for real. Have you got any idea how you want to debut it? Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “It could be an opener for the London show. Or the closer, whichever.”

“Calm down,” Johnny tsked, “I dunno if it's ready yet.”

“Rubbish, I love it. Even if we keep polishing it, it's too good not to share.”

“Later, eh?” He said with a one-sided shrug. As he tweaked his kit setup, Rose scrunched her nose at Jack. That attitude wouldn't work at all, she telepathically told him, to which he replied with a dip of his chin, Leave it.

That lasted until they were back in the tour bus, another show under their belt, another few miles closer to home. She could hear Jack sawing logs in his bunk, and pictured her friend's mouth hanging open, drool pooling on his cheek. If the fans could only see him now.

“Blimey he’s loud,” Johnny griped, his voice startling her so much she knocked her forehead on the low ceiling, “Never realized if he doesn't get lucky, neither are we.” Usually he locked himself in with his headphones. She wondered why he hadn't this time, but decided not to pry.

Rose turned on her side toward his voice, two privacy curtains away. “Been like this in all the years I’ve known ‘im. Acts all smooth, but he's a big dork.”

“What could we make if we sampled him?” Rose chuckled and they bandied suggestions back and forth. A deadmau5-style beat drop with Jack’s incredible bass snores took the cake, and they giggled like children sharing their first secret. It got her wondering about this man, no, this voice she'd so rarely had the pleasure of spending time with.

“You've got words inside you, Johnny,” Rose whispered across the aisle. “How come you never let them out?” It was more than the songwriting she meant, and knew he knew it. Like her crystal clear mental image of a drooling Jack, she now saw her drummer pursing his chapped lips as he struggled to set free the bits and bobs in his brain.

“I had a fantastic gob when I was a tyke. Used to gab and gab to anyone who'd listen.”

Unable to keep from being greedy, she prompted, “What changed?”

“People stopped listening,” He answered simply. So little was conveyed in those few syllables, but she had gotten good at reading between his lines.

“Oh,” Rose sighed in sorrow, “Oh Johnny.” 

The electric buzz of the bus, inescapable even while parked, hummed between them. _I'll listen,_ the thought burned fiercely, _I swear to you I will always listen and love what you have to say._ Fear kept her as mute as he, and she swallowed the unformed words when the rustle of fabric signaled him turning over to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Rose adjusted the clunky headphones over her ears as the tech gave the final thumbs up.

“Hello, you're with Grimmy and I'm with electro-alternative-rock sensation Rosie!” The host announced.

“Hi,” Rose greeted him and the listening audience, “I’m Rose Tyler, and this is my guitarist, Jack Harkness.”

“Hello,” He added suavely, “Thanks for having us, Grimmy.”

“Thank you both so very very much for coming. Now, I know my opener was a mouthful, but you’ve got to admit, you’re rather hard to pin down. Style-wise, I mean, I can't speak for-”

“Down boy,” Jack laughed.

“Thanks,” Rose laughed lightly, “I reckon I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You are though! Like, you’ve been called all sorts of things, like synthpop or indietronica—”

“Indietronica?” Jack repeated. “We haven’t heard that one before, have we?”

“No, that's a new one. The truth is, I write what I like. Mostly songs about feeling lonely and insecure, which I reckon we can all relate to at times.” She chuckled, hiding her twisting fingers beneath the table. Her lyrics were so personal, coming from depths she didn’t enjoy uprooting for casual consumption. She switched tracks. “I love the fusion of keyboard, or, yeah, synth, with Jack’s guitar, with Johnny’s grooves—”

“Right!” The radio host interrupted. “We forget, there’s a third party involved. Who’s Johnny Smith, what’s he up to?”

Jack jumped in, saying, “Johnny’s our drummer. A real rock’n’roll punk kinda guy. He’s a man of few words, but amazing with his sticks, man, he’s a pleasure to watch.”

“Yeah, he’s brilliant,” Rose added, “I had no idea he wrote as well. We’ve been collaborating recently. It's been refreshing, really, to experience writing with someone else, someone so passionate about the work. I’m excited to share it with fans, eventually, he says it isn't ready yet.”

“Such a tease!” Grimshaw exclaimed.

“Not if we deliver,” Jack said, his wink coming through in his voice. The interview continued, moving through light analysis and praise of Rosie’s music, to mostly Jack engaging in editorializing music news, and finishing off with a silly game of Never Have I Ever.

“And there I am,” explained Jack over his co-hosts’ cackling laughter, “Pants around my ankles, fleeing from Great Aunt Dory, while the bride and groom have to tell the minister that, no, neither were cheating per se, I was just a part of their very special day.”

“Catchy,” Rose gasped as she daintily wiped her lower eyelids, “I’ll have that in a song, I swear…”

“Well then,” Grimshaw clapped, catching sight of the small flashing light urging them off-air, “I think we've learned a little about Rosie’s process and a _lot_ about Jack Harkness. Rosie, thank you so much for being here!” They echoed their thanks. “You lot lucky enough to have tickets’ll see them tonight at their sold out, closeout show, and the rest of ya absolutely _must_ buy their album wherever fine music is sold.”

After saying their private goodbyes to Grimshaw and his staff, Rose and Jack came out of the studio arm in arm.

“Does Johnny know?” Jack asked, meandering them around the high street. Morning commuters passed with their heads down, and she was grateful for urban disconnect. It was early yet and she didn't quite feel like being recognized.

She answered him absently as they passed a department store, taken in by the plastic displays. “Know what?”

“That you gush about him behind his back.” She elbowed him hard, and in mercurial Jack fashion he grew serious. “You're planning to release his song.”

Abandoning the windows, Rose goggled at him. “Why shouldn't we release it? We've worked hard on it. Surely he'll want to distribute it, obviously _when_ will be up to him. He says it's not finished, I think he's barmy, but we'll see, won't we?”

“You've been collaborating for a week,” He stated plainly, as if she were missing the point, “He's had it in his notebook for years. What if he'd rather save it and debut it solo?” Rose stared at him. No. No, it was nonsense. Jack held his palms up in a display of innocence. “Our Johnny’s a good guy, I know he'd credit you on it, but by all rights the song should belong to him.”

“Yeah of course. It… hadn't occurred to me…” She worried her bottom lip, her step having significantly less bounce. “Does… does Johnny want to leave the band? Has he said anything to you?”

“No, and he's probably not thinking about it, but Rose…”

“I know. I don't pay attention to people. I'm working on it.” It had been a longstanding issue between them, a flaw Jack vowed not to let her forget. A good mate, he was, striving to make her a better person. It was just… too easy to forget that other people had the same vastness inside them, histories and traumas and emotions, that neither outshined nor diminished her own.

All but Johnny, she realized in that instant, whom she had come to understand had a whole universe in his head, and that wasn't scary at all. She liked it. She revelled in eeking each thought from his tight lips. His lips which she tried very hard not to dwell on when looking him in the face.

Tactically switching targets, Rose relinked their arms which had untangled in disagreement. “You know what we've got to do, don’t you?”

Sid-eying her, he replied, “If you need to sweet talk me, I probably won't like it.”

“Nah, you'll love it. S’about the encore tonight…”

 

* * *

 

 

“London!” Rose screamed, and she was buffeted back by a tidal wave of sound. “My home, my love, my only!” The arena roared back its love. “You have been so kind and I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making the end of this tour bloody phenomenal! To my best friend, my brother, who made this tour possible, I say thank you Jack Harkness!” He bowed as they hailed him, and Rose was certain there were tears on his cheeks as well as sweat. She turned her back on the crowd and strode to the back of the stage. “And to one of the dearest souls I can claim my friend, Johnny Smith!”

Riding high, Rose planted her hand on his snare, vibrating through her palm. She launched herself over and her lips landed on his sweat-damp forehead. The kiss ought to have been quick, like the ones she and Jack exchanged like slaps. Yet her lips lingered, tasting the salt, feeling his heat. There was power surging between them, raw, wild current that surged, and she severed the circuit.

“Thank you London,” She swiveled her affections back to the crowds, where it was meant to be, “We are Rosie, and we will see you laters yeah? Be good my darlings and-”

“ _Have a fantastic life!”_ They wished as one.

The respite backstage was unlike the previous gigs. The encore had been planned and run through with the venue. They had three chairs waiting with towels and water and Rose felt ridiculously spoiled. She'd just sunk into hers when Johnny upended his bottle over his head. He shook like a shaggy dog and flopped into his own spot. Rose and Jack shared a glance, then bowed to the drummer’s wisdom and followed suit. Cold water splashed down Rose’s neck and back and she sighed in relief. Jack had dressed in black material that glistened now. Her white shirt was absolutely soaked, proudly framing her black bra, and she could see the pictures now and choked on a laugh.

“I love you,” She declared out of the blue. Pushing up her dripping curtain of hair, she beamed at her boys. “You are both so brilliant. It's my face on the posters but I couldn't do nothing without you lot.”

“We know,” Jack said as he pulled her into a wet one-armed embrace. Johnny, characteristically, said nothing.

They returned to the stage to raucous cheers and Rose bellowed into the mic, “Not done with you yet, London! This is our last encore of the tour and we're bloody gonna make it count!”

Red spotlights found her in center stage as she sang, right as Jack strummed his first notes.

 

“ _Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,  
_ _You sure are looking good,_ ”

 

The red lights faded to soft blue.

 

“ _You're everything,  
_ _A Big Bad Wolf could want._ ”

 

Johnny’s instinct for composition was spot on. They took the old song on a journey through dark forests, a building climax that had the audience holding their breath, and releasing on a frenetic guitar and drum solo. Rose melted into the shadows as the kit was bathed in crimson, it's artist a blur. He was thunder itself.

At last, as the cymbal rang and Jack let up on his strings, Rose felt the soft blue of moonlight return to her.

“ _You're everything…_ ” The lyric balanced in the air as she tipped her chin up. _Oh Johnny_ , she heard herself say once more. She inhaled. “... _A Big Bad Wolf could want._ ”

She rode out the wave of applause. As she sensed Johnny half-rising from his stool, she said, “Hang on, hang on all of you! I've got, well, a surprise.” The arena fell from a turbulent ocean to a whispering stream. “A surprise for you lot and certainly a surprise for my lovely Johnny back there.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder so she needn't look at him. “If you heard us on Grimmy, you'll know Johnny’s written a song. It's, it's, it's beautiful. I love it, and I'm so glad he let me help out on it. Johnny’s not ready to release it, but I want to show him, while we've got this handy stage and everything, just how good it's gonna go over. So, um, Jack?”

For all that they'd argued beforehand, Jack picked up his strumming flawlessly. Rose wandered over to her keyboard and secured the mic, all of which she could do without glancing backward.

 

“ _It’s starting over,  
_ _Yeah it’s starting now._ ”

 

Everyone was quiet as she gave voice to his words. Her neck prickled with nerves, not for their reaction, of that she was certain, but his. There was a conspicuous lack of hi-hat that was meant to lead in the first verse. Oh darling, don't let me down now.

 

“ _Why are you running,  
_ _From your own crowd?_ ”

 

If she could, she'd have held her breath.

 

" _Where are you going?_ ”

 

There he was. As her fingers pressed the notes into life, Johnny picked up his groove in perfect time. From there they were flying through the rhythm they knew so intimately. There was no forcing the grin shining with pure joy as they reached the verse they'd given birth to together.

 

“ _‘Cause every star is a sunset somewhere,_  
_Somehow I can feel the earth stop when I’m with you._  
_Maybe, oh maybe, you’ll find something,_  
_Something for you,_  
_To sum up the fears,  
Of dying alone._

 _‘Cause you can go but just don’t leave me._  
_‘Cause I don’t know how I’m still breathing._  
_Oh, ‘cause you can go but just don’t leave me.  
‘Cause I need to feel your heart beating_.”

 

As the melody ebbed into something soothing, Rose abandoned the keys. Mic handheld once again, she strut to the edge of the stage. Hands reached up and she bestowed her touch like a martyr.

 

“ _‘Cause if you find me don’t ever leave me,_  
_If you find me don’t ever leave me,_  
_If you find me don’t ever leave me alone..._  
_‘Cause if you find me don’t ever leave me,_  
_If you find me don’t ever leave me,  
If you find me don’t ever leave me alone…_ ”

 

Rose turned her back on the crowd. He was already watching her, wrists and elbows effortlessly directing his constantly bouncing sticks. Could he always do that? Watch her? Or was it because this was a pattern he'd been perfecting for years?

 

“ _‘Cause if you find me don’t ever leave me,_  
_If you find me don’t ever leave me,  
If you find me don’t ever leave me alone…"_

 

Understanding, or perhaps recognition, flashed between them. Too monumental for Rose to comprehend, she did something she'd never done before. 

Rose flung herself backwards onto the waiting sea of people. They lifted her up and carried her out as she sang into the mic, now her tether to the stage.

 

“ _‘Cause you can go but just don’t leave me,_ ” She sang to the rafters with her eyes shut tight.  
“ _'_ _Cause I don’t know how I’m still breathing.  
_ _Oh, ‘cause you can go but just don’t leave me._ "

 

Her ferrymen drifted her back to the stage, where two technicians in black were waiting to grab her arms. She floated with them, hoping she didn't look as lost as she felt. Time bore down on her, and her line came out steady as soon as her feet found solid ground.

 

“ _‘Cause I need to feel your heart,_  
_‘Cause I need to feel your heart,  
‘Cause I need to feel your heart beating_.”

 

* * *

 

 

“There you are!” Rose delighted when she spied Johnny standing outside. The party’d been going for ages, the clock ticking thrice past pumpkin time, booze flowing from all directions. She'd had to tell at least a dozen blokes that she needed fresh air, _alone_ , before she made it to the side door. That's where she laid eyes on Johnny for the first time in hours. He stood in a circle of blokes and one girl beneath a cloud of their own making. All of them but her drummer had to disguise their reaction to seeing her.

“Alright, Rose,” He said, more nonchalant than he needed to be as she came to join them. Gesturing at the others he introduced them as Jamie, Harry, Adam, and Ace, though she couldn’t hold on to which was which.

Alcohol made it easy to ignore them, so Rose poked her finger in Johnny’s side. “You're avoiding me!” She sing-songed.

“I haven't,” He replied, tone not matching the tension that went through his buddies.

Heedless of them, she went on, “I'm in there kissing producers’ arses for you, the least you could do is stand next to me. I'm more hoarse from singing your praises than from, well.” She giggled at her own joke.

Johnny waved his mates off, and they scattered to smoke elsewhere. To her, he said, “You don't have to do that.”

“No, but I want to!” She clutched his arm, grinning up at him. “You’re great, the song’s great, and I want everyone to know. You can have your pick of producers in there, and, meh, at least three of them have the potential to make it a chart-topper. D’ya believe that? Your debut single on the charts, God, I wish I'd been so lucky.”

“My debut,” He repeated, looking down at her, and she caught the inkling of a frown in his low eyebrows.

“Well, yeah.”

Gently he pulled out of her hold, which had gotten weak. “When did I agree to this?”

“I…” Bloody hell, Jack'd been right. He was mad. But the song had gone so well. “Okay, I know I sprung the performance on you, but there wasn't going to be an opportunity to play it after tonight. It's building your hype. Now when you decide to release it, _whenever_ that is, the headlines'll be, ‘Johnny Smith releases much anticipated single.’”

“No,” He said, lip curling into something ugly, “They bloody won't.”

Rose balked at his unexpected venom. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I'd rather go out without the severance package, thanks.” His sarcasm stung, as it was meant to. “If you wanted to sack me, you didn't have to go through all this trouble.”

“Sack you? I…” She scrambled for the right thing to say. “You git,” That probably wasn't it, “I'm helping you! I'm letting you move on!”

He chuckled darkly. “Fat fucking chance.”

Her own ire up, Rose yelled, “How’d you mean? You want to be my backup forever, do ya? That why you still carrying that notebook? I worked hard on that song, so if you think-”

“It's yours,” Johnny spit out, “The song, the words, all of it. It's yours.”

“You can't—”

“I stopped writing after my parents died,” He told her with the precision of a knife thrower. “Went mute, if you want to be technical about it. Talking came back but I reckoned writing never would. Then you came along.” Fruitlessly she shook her head until John clamped his hands around her ears. Muffled, swimming through honey, he sang in his low rasp, “ _Somehow I can feel the earth stop when I'm with you._ It's yours, Rose, do you see yet? Your heart, and mine, don't you get it?”

“Get off.” Rose shoved him square in his sternum, and he instantly released her and backed up a few paces.

“I know what I'm afraid of,” Johnny asserted, “What about you? Why's this so scary for you, Rose?”

“I dunno what the hell you’re on about,” She denied, rolling her shoulder like a boxer.

His blow hit anyway. “It's your parents, isn't it? They're gone and it's hard to think you can care about anyone again, that it's just inviting disaster, or you don't deserve it.” Rose gaped at him, all reason gone. Her mind was quiet, all she could hear was the noise spilling from the party, the waning London populace, and Johnny’s unerring deductions. “I get it, and what's more I get how many people who claim to get it never can. There's nothing like loss. It's always sudden and too soon, no matter if you think you're prepared. It fucks you up. People aren't just people anymore, they're timebombs. You start wondering, what's the point of them all? Why’m I expected to be around them all the time? They're fragile and danger and I've already been damaged enough. I just got done picking out the shrapnel from the last human I loved, won’t see me making that mistake again!”

She ought to shout, match his volume, but she couldn't manage. “Stop it.”

“But that's the point of them, Rose! You see? That's just it!” His tirade of manic energy built and built as hundreds of words scrambled over themselves to be free. “Humans need humans, we need them to live. _Live_ , as in, enjoy life, to be alive rather than survive. With their little quirks and busy lives and jagged edges that can cut us as easily as fit together. Someone to draw us in and make us want to risk everything. Maybe they're blonde and brilliant and have no idea what their smile does to you, and then there's absolutely no choice, you're done for.” For the first time he appeared to actually draw breath. Had there been a sensible response in her head, that would have been her moment to give it. “At least that's how it worked for me. I dunno who’ll do it for you, but for the sake of the world, I hope you find them soon. I'm absolutely certain that Rosie in love will be a gift to music.”

The fight was over, but they were both so covered in blood and bruises, it was impossible to call a victor.

Weakly Rose breached the protracted silence, “Johnny…” But what was there to say? She could hardly ask him to stay. They weren't Stevie Nicks and Buckingham and she couldn't expect him… She wanted him happy. He had to leave.

In the moment that revelation shuddered through her, Johnny could see it. “Okay,” He said slowly, “Okay. Rosie, you, er, get back inside, love. There's a bit of party left, enjoy it. We can… we can work out everything in the morning. Alright?” There wasn't anything to do but agree. “Okay,” Johnny repeated, “I'll...” He chuckled, “Laters, yeah.”

_Have a fantastic life._

Rose pushed past him so he wouldn't notice her wet eyes.

The party crumbled into dust as sunlight slowly broke in. Her feet dragged as Rose made her way to the bus. For the last time, she remembered distantly, as it would be returned that day. Inside there were no sounds but the buzzing she'd come to find comforting. The bunks were empty. She fit herself inside one, not noticing which, and listened to the world begin to move. Though she'd imagined it impossible, emotional and physical exhaustion finally took its toll, and Rose drifted to sleep.

And then.

Rose woke up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs included are:  
> [Shura - Just Once](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cueWoIHosx4)  
> [Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs - Little Red Riding Hood (cover)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTzLgnT9UFI)  
> [Michigander - Fears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rpoudso5nzg)


End file.
